


My Children

by Rahar_Moonfire



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 16:29:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2031936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahar_Moonfire/pseuds/Rahar_Moonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England suffers night after night during the German Blitz, but an old friend brings him to Narnia to help four of his people currently there. His people, his children. Children forced to grow up too fast. For Narnia, for Aslan, and for his children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Children

The sirens raged as the German planes roared overhead. The citizens of London fled to their shelters. The bombs fell, destroying buildings, lives, morale, and England’s body. Another wave followed another and another and another. Each burst brought another flaming explosion of agonizing pain lancing through England’s body. He lay curled up in a ball struggling to draw breath as his body burned.

No amount of magic or prayer would make it stop. He just had to deal with it until it ended. Just a few more hours. Just a little longer. Just a little. Just a little.

If he could endure one more night of this, then he would. He swore he would. He could not, would not leave his people to suffer alone. Their pain was his pain, his land’s pain was his pain. He was England, the land and the people. They were strong and so was he. He would survive. He would. Germany would not defeat him; not the Great British Empire. Not him. He would see this through to the end.

And he did.

But when he was finally able to move, he saw a beach instead of wood and stone and ruble and bodies and blood. A beautiful, pristine beach. The gentle sea breeze ruffled his choppy blonde hair as he stared out to the distant horizon. The land beneath him was familiar, but not his own. This land belonged to another, a friend.

“So you’ve come,” a deep, gentle voice said behind him.

England closed his emerald eyes as the soft words flowed over him like a caress from a mother to a child. “I cannot stay,” England whispered. “My people…need me.”

Soft fur nuzzled England’s cheek. “Yes, but your people here need you as well. Can you not feel them?”

Concentrating, England reached out to the land beneath him with his newfound friend’s help, and felt them. Four humans. Four English humans. His people. They were here. But how? The last time that happened was when…she came to England.

“They need you. She has returned. Will you help them?” the voice whispered, hot breath disturbing the Nation’s already messy hair.

England sighed deeply. “How could I not, Aslan?”


End file.
